


the dangers of baseball bats

by iimpavid, It_MightBe_Love



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate universe - Mafia, Banter, F/F, Flirting, Gen, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Jewish Characters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28432617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpavid/pseuds/iimpavid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/It_MightBe_Love/pseuds/It_MightBe_Love
Summary: The one where Bucky's a mob boss, basically.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	the dangers of baseball bats

**Author's Note:**

> This was probably never going anywhere to begin with but I gotta keep it somewhere or else I'll never remember it existed in the first place. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, obviously.

What happens is, Steve isn't paying attention when she comes in. What happens is, Steve’s backup should have had the exit. What happens is, she shouldn’t have been there in the first place. 

The neighborhood doesn't see new arrivals. Or hadn't at least, in as many years as Steve could remember, and Mr. Sapperstein should know better than to renege on his gambling debt payments. Steve can be excused for not seeing the petite blonde coming out of the ladies room, while he's got Sapperstein bent over the counter and one of the paring knives making inroads into the second knuckle of his pinky finger, at least until a throat clears behind him and when he turns, it's to be met with an explosion of sparks, and white-hot pain that steals the breath from his lungs and sends him stumbling a step.

Sapperstein, wisely, uses the distraction to sink to the floor and crawl away.

Steve's hearing returns only to be met with a slew of yiddish he only understands about a third of, and only because he grew up around people who spoke Hebrew. He's pretty sure his nose is well and truly broken, gushing blood that's showing no signs of stopping and Steve? Isn't the sort to hit girls. This one looks about fifteen. She's  _ tiny _ . 

"--look, I'm not--" he can't get a word in edgewise, and she's snatching up the paring knife and holding the sharp, bloodied end up at him, Steve's hands shoot up into the air-- "Okay! I'm going! I'm going!"

He could definitely take her, except his vision keeps going a little spotty and he can't breathe through his nose.

He slinks back to Bucky's fully aware he just got his backside handed to him by a girl who probably hadn't even started menstruating yet, and how much crap Bucky and the guys are going to give him, and wonders if it's worth it to lie. But then-- Sapperstein isn't good at keeping his mouth shut and Steve is going to have to go back and finish teaching him a lesson. 

He pauses on the threshold of Bucky's office and eyes himself in a wall mirror, reaches up and reset his nose with a pained grunt and turns to face the music.

Bucky’s in front of the mirror himself, fiddling with a black bowtie that won’t sit quite straight because there’s a charity auction tonight and he means to win his ma a real Roman statue. The one on the block  _ Artemis and the Stag _ is a solid 2,100 years old and it’d look great in the guest house parlor. He spares Steve a sideways glance, then another that turns into a frown. “I guess Sapperstein gotta decent left hook? Look at you, you bled all over your shirt, Julia’s gonna have to try to get that out. Or burn it. Then we’re gonna hafta get you fitted for a new one.” 

He surrenders, temporarily, to the bowtie, letting it hang untied around his neck. He faces Steve, hands in his pockets and asks, “I’m assumin’ you didn’t get my money. Who’d you piss off? It sure as hell wasn’t our friend the pharmacist.”

Steve steps in, rolling his eyes to tie Bucky’s bowtie, his ma used to make him wear them for church before she’d passed. His entire face hurts.

“No. I didn’t. I got taken advantage of by a highschool girl with a mean right hook.”

It sounds even more humiliating out loud, “Then she threatened me with a knife, and seein’ as I was already bleeding from a broken nose, I wasn’t gonna risk seein’ what she’d do with said knife, so I amscrayed. I’m goin’ back to get your money tonight.”

Bucky holds in his laughter until Steve’s hands are safely away from his throat. Barely. “You’re tellin’ me,” he says, all but giggling, “you’re telling me that some girl broke your nose and threatened you with a knife? There’s just somethin’ about your face that begs to be hit, isn’t there?” He shakes his head, gets a hold of himself as best he can. It’s a real challenge with the idea of a local school girl cold clocking Steve. “You gotta take care of that pretty face of yours you’re not gonna have it forever. Make sure Sapperstein’s is  _ closed _ before you go back, see if you can avoid another mishap… although I guess if it was his granddaughter and not a customer it won’t help you much will it?” 

Steve would never hurt Bucky. But he’s sorely tempted to shove the man’s face into his armpit in revenge. He could do it now, he’s got a solid four inches and at least fifty pounds on Bucky these days. He scowls, “He was ten minutes to close, I flipped the sign. I made the logical assumption no one would  _ come in _ \-- she must have already been there,” he grouses and takes a step back to scowl. “I don’t like you very much right now, and I’m definitely tellin’ your ma you were bein’ a little shit.”

* * *

April does not forget about the burly blond guy she'd caught trying to saw off Mr. Sapperstein's pinky finger. All the way up through to getting ready for the charity auction she's waitressing at. 

She'd never actually gone to any when she was still a Miller, and for a moment she's pretty thankful she never had to because the people are sleazy. The midnight blue of the cocktail dress that is part and parcel of her uniform, would be classy if she didn't also feel a little bit like meat on a slab.

Her faculty position at NYU is new though, and she has college loans to pay down, and rent to make and it isn't that her stipend from the university is paltry. But-- the waitressing gig means she can afford to keep eating kosher and at the end of the day, that's really what she cares about.

Mr. Sapperstein had known her grandmother, Katherine, he'd remembered her too, when April'd brought her up.

She's pretty mad she didn't get her meat though, and if she encounters that blond guy again, she's definitely going to make sure he knows how mad she is about that. She'd already paid for her purchases to boot.

She offers up a smile at Eliza and finishes doing her lipstick and says, "Right, y'all know th'rules. They ain't allowed to touch none of ya-" She says this severely, April isn't actually in charge, she's only been in New York about seven weeks, but she has a pretty fierce temper and the girls all know April can hold her own if need be.

"Can it Adler, we all know if someone tries to get hands you're gonna be out a job on account of defending' our maidenly virtue--" That's Rebecca Winthrop, a statuesque redhead and April grins cheekily.

"They're sending me into the Diamond Lounge for th'event."

"Oh, be careful. That lounge's all sharks and politicians."

"You mean there's a difference?" April remembers her father. He'd been nothing like that. Sure those last few years had been rough and violence filled; but he'd been a good man at his core.

The real reason they're sending April to the Diamond Lounge isn't on account of her ability to be charming. She's the shortest of the company's waitresses but she can sail around a jam-packed room in five inch heels. No one even knows where she gets them, just that she owns several pairs, all classy as hell and completely incongruous with current fashion and that she seems to get more graceful in them the more irritable she gets.

The first trays she's carrying through the Diamond Lounge is champagne. The saccharine smell of expensive liquor makes her stomach turn, but she schools her face into something approaching a pleasant smile, "Champagne sir?" There's no masking the heavy Louisianan drawl to her voice though, and it's only through sheer obstinance and years under Eva Mae Miller's tyrannical eye, that April's composure remains utterly implacable under the lecherous stares she's just drawn.

She's sure someone is getting kneed in the family jewels before the end of the night. At this rate she's not going to keep this extra job and she'll be forced to ask Rabbi Boehm if she can pick up Hebrew lessons at Temple. He'll never let her hear the end of it.

The lounge is smoky and warm and the pre-auction reception is clearly designed to loosen purse strings and open pocketbooks. As if anyone in the room needed encouragement to spend exorbitant amounts of money on genuine Old World treasures and artifacts.

“Mr. Barnes!”

Bucky turns on his heel toward his newest favorite money-launderer and banker, grinning, “Anton! Mr. Barnes is my father, you know that. Please, call me Bucky.” 

Anton Horace Nelson is as smarmy as a person could be outside of actively living in a swamp. Neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, he made his way through the world banking solely on the unremarkability of his appearance and the sharpness of his intellect. Falling in with Bucky Barnes had seemed, to him, a lucky bit of happenstance. “If you insist. Tell me, how’s your family?”

Truthfully, Bucky needed a scapegoat. The lifespan of his current gambling operation was drawing to a close and Nelson had a penchant for cooking the books and giving folks loans they couldn’t afford in his day-to-day life. Massaging history a little to make it look like Nelson was the progenitor of the entire scheme, well, that made it easier to send the guy to prison.

Bucky’s smile could be a spotlight for how it illuminates everyone fortunate enough to receive it. “Ah, they’re great! Becca’s startin’ college and Mom’s gonna start up a memorial fund in dad’s name so other Jewish kids around the neighborhood who aren’t as fortunate can do the same thing.”

“Your mother is a lovely woman. Generous and smart as a whip— no wonder she raised a boy like you!” 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Anton.”

A cocktail waitress offers them champagne and Anton nearly upsets her tray jumping in surprise. 

Bucky laughs good-naturedly and tells her, “Don’t mind if I do, thank you. Just a second— you’re not from New York, are you?”

How they missed her is beyond April, she isn't much like the other girls with their ability to meld with the woodwork. April likes being noticed. It's part of the reason she managed to snag a coveted position in the newly formed Linguistics Department at NYU. Still,  New York Elite make her teeth ache and she wonders how her babcia would have handled this before, "No. I ain't from New York," the drawl is easy, if a little dry. Because really-- "What gave it away? Cain't've been th'way I talk. I swear if'I'd've known how easily I was gonna get spotted I'da tried my hand at more subterfuge."

April's fairly certain the level of sarcasm in her voice is going to get her in trouble. She has virtually no patience for the common 'oh. you're not from around here' conversation. It was almost as bad as the 'what's the South like' -- as if all parts of the south were painted equal. 

Her sarcasm makes Bucky smile. “No ma’am it’s your eyes that give you away; nobody who’s lived here long still looks so hopeful and full of life. No amount of practice at subterfuge really conceals that.” 

April's daddy'd've laughed his head off. She's pretty sure her mama would have leveled an icy cool look that would freeze these men in their fancy chinos. Instead, the smile on her face only grows, as if the more teeth she can show beneath painted red lips, will serve as a deterrent for any further questions.

"I'm here by way a Louisiana--"

He’s about to ask how she finds New York when Anton has to go and open his mouth.

Anton's mouth curls in a leer, "Loozanna? You mean Louisiana?" His eyes slide down her body. A slow once over that makes April wish they'd let her serve hors d'oeuvres. At least then she had easy access to shrimp forks. 

Bucky shifts his eyes to the banker, still smiling but with an edge, “Mr. Nelson, don’t you want to take a look at the silent auction? There are some antique firearms I think you’d enjoy.”

“What? It’s funny—“ 

“Ah, I see,  _ l  _ geddit. Just like it’s hi _ lar _ ious,” he says it dropping the Hollywood English that’s more or less defined his adult life in favor for the nasal rapidfire that came naturally to him growing up, “how guys from Brooklyn can’t say the _ ay _ ter and cawfee, right? Cute. Go look at the antiques, Anton.” 

“I- I didn’t—”

Bucky waits, smiling and not blinking and after another beat Anton scurries away. 

“I’m sorry about him,” he tells the waitress, “he’s a walkin’ embarrassment.” 

April pulls her arm out of his grasp and levels a pointed look at it. Luckily, she doesn't have to send him scurrying away, seeing as the other man-- the one not wearing chinos, at least his mama raised him better than to dress down in a place this fancy, she thinks idly, seems to possess something like a modicum of decorum.

"S'the first time that's ever happened t'me. Last time a man got hands I ended up breaking' two a his fingers--" she frowned, "Think it was a lawyer or somethin'-- he had this--" she wiggled a finger over her upper lip, "Thing, on 'is face. Weren't what you'd call real attractive."

Her eyes narrowed at him, "And don't think I didn't notice you implyin' I'm naive-- withat 'hopeful an' fulla life' schtick. You might be good at puttin' on airs'n'graces but I weren't born in th'mornin' an' it certainly weren't this mornin'."

“Oh, well, in that case I shoulda let Anton stick around; a guy like me can’t get away with that kind of violence but you? I’m sure all you’d have to do is bat your eyes and nobody’d be the wiser.” 

She smirked, "Well... I don't get away with it in th'strictest sense but--" she lifted a shoulder indolently.

He's still talking, and she isn't unaware of his scrutiny. She's aware of how she looks, and she certainly knows her best attributes. She has truly fantastic legs if she says so herself. She rebalances the tray, people milling past plucking champagne flutes from it or depositing empties. Whoever she's talking too appears to be enough of a deterrent for her bosses ire.

Now that he’s looking, really looking, he can see the way her eyes catch the light of the chandeliers, luminous green and decidedly impatient. It’s nice. He has a fondness for people who aren’t suck ups and chafe in the confines of polite society. (Not to mention the tiny fact that the bottom 3/4 of her uniform skirt is entirely transparent chiffon. He’s polite, sure, but he isn’t  _ blind _ .)

He laughs, “No one’s rich enough to afford naiveté nowadays, no, I was just hoping I could make you smile. Do you think my unfortunate acquaintance ruin the odds of that completely or is there hope for me yet?”

She arched an eyebrow at him, "My daddy taught me it wasn't polite t'judge a man on his hangers-on--" she tipped her head and flashed him a smile. Not the forced one she'd had on previously. "Happy? Can I get back t'my job now?"

"It's a start," he tells her, but has manners enough to look chagrined. "Thank you for letting me distract you from your vital work; this place would be a mausoleum without the steady supply of spirits." 

He takes the last flute of champagne from her tray and wanders to find a good seat. By his watch the auction should begin any minute and his mother  _ needs _ that Roman statue. Not that she knows it yet but it'll class up the guest house and be something she can tell her friends about for years.

* * *

Steve's coming out of the bakery on Ivy, wiping blood off his knuckles, when he encounters the high school girl again. She takes one look at him coming down the sidewalk, the blood on his shirtsleeves, and the state of his knuckles and Steve has a moment to think 'oh shit' --

"She hit me with a fucking baseball bat Bucky!" Dum Dum is laughing while he sutures the cut on Steve's skull, "Who does that?"

Dum Dum draws back, "Stop jerkin' around kid. Or you're gonna end up with a needle embedded in that thick skull of yours--"

Steve scowls, "She told me I needed to learn better manners! Hypocritical since she hit me with a fuckin' bat! I told her I was doin' my job! My job! You know what she said? That it was her job t'make sure I quit bullyin' people! They aren't good people and I'm not bullyin' them!"

Bucky is less amused than he was the first time Steve came home busted up by a schoolgirl. "Sit still and let DumDum fix your thick skull." Once it was a hilarious happenstance. Twice is an uncanny coincidence-- Bucky adores Steve, would do anything for him, and has him enforce only because he's so damn good at it now that he's not the size of a malnourished hamster. (Not that he wasn't before, back then he was even meaner, but Bucky worries less about him now.) There's no real sense in waiting around for it to become a pattern. Gamblers are nice but gambling is not a pastime in which James Barnes indulges. 

"Clearly this kid thinks you're a hired goon and not a skilled businessman. Which is unfortunate. I'll have a talk with Mr. S, see if he knows a thing or two about this girl so we can resolve this civilly. Before you go gettin your head knocked off your shoulders over some chump change. My ma wants help with that garden of hers. She's puttin’ in a elephant fountain," he adds this last as an afterthought. Mrs. Barnes was determined to turn the land around the guest house-- her primary residence-- into a jungle. Bucky is always happy to volunteer his men to help her achieve her goals no matter how eccentric. 

Steve grumbles but acquiesces and says, "An elephant fountain? She still want those hydrangeas too? I'm s'posed to pick them up Thursday from the nursery."

* * *

Bucky visits the pharmacy on a bright Thursday morning. Makes his way to the register with a bag of strawberry hard candies and asthma cigarettes he's got no use for but his sister uses the tins for jewelry instead of the good jewelry boxes he buys her so asthma cigarettes it is. "Good morning, Mr. Sapperstein. Long time no see-- How's the grandkids?"

Eli Sapperstein stares at James Barnes and then down at where his pinky is still wrapped in bandages and stutters out as polite as he can, "They're doin' all right Mr. Barnes. I-I-I'll have the next payment to you early. I swear!"

He waves a hand, "No, no, no-- no need to make it early. Stick to the terms we renegotiated, please, you have nothing to worry about." He pulls out his wallet, decides he's going to overpay for his order. For fun. "No, I'm here outta curiosity. It's a fatal flaw of mine, having to know everything about everything-- my dad, you know, there's a lotta things he did he didn't want me and Ma and Becca knowing about but one night I'm playing around in the garage and find this secret compartment -- forgive me, I digress. That's not the point. The point is my friend Steve-- you remember him, the Irish one with the big blue eyes and the knife collection-- Steve's having girl trouble. And not the kind you'd think for a guy as good looking as him. This girl, he keeps running into her and she keeps on busting his face!" 

He laughs, "It's funny right? A guy his size gettin beat up by a girl. But I'm gettin' worried about Steve, Mr. S. God knows he's gotta face that asks to be punched  _ never mind  _ how he runs his mouth-- but too much of that can do serious damage. Do you have any idea who it is, is beatin up on my friend?"

Eli knows exactly who Barnes is asking about, and he knew Katherin Adler back in the day, she's the reason he met his wife Annette and her granddaughter’s no less of a spitfire. But he has no real loyalty to her granddaughter, and as soon as Barnes has paid-- overpaid goodness. He divvies out change and says, "Her name is April Adler. She's th’granddaughter of an old customer. May she rest in peace." He says, "You could probably find 'er at the University. She got a cushy job teachin' up there. Started a couple weeks back."   


“Thank you,” Bucky says and means it, “Thank you so much. Stevie’s ma was gettin’ worried about his brain from beyond the grave— did you know Mrs. Rogers was a nurse? Anyway, you take care of yourself, Mr. S., I’m gonna get outta your hair now. Say hi to the wife and grandkids for me.” 

He leaves his change on the counter and leaves the pharmacy whistling.


End file.
